Remembering a recipe from a celebrity TV chef I used to love watching, I grabbed Smeed and a large pot, placing both on the wide stove that had runes across its front. After some trial and error, I was able to identify which ones raised and lowered the heat. Rather than individual burners like I was used to, this worked more like a griddle at a greasy diner back home.
Looking over to where I knew Priss had come up closer to me, I asked, “Hey, what would your Ma use for frying?”
Rather than speak, she points towards the metal canister that sat on one of the side counters. Grabbing the can, I look in and sniff at the stark white substance inside. There wasn’t much of a smell at all, and tipping it slightly, I couldn’t tell whether it was a solid or a liquid. Grabbing a nearby spoon from a metal cup, I scoop the stuff out and place some into the cookware on the stove. The sizzle is familiar and immediately releases a mouthwatering smell that reminds me of bacon, prompting me to work on the next few steps.
I cube up a couple of the slices I had done of the yamatos, the counter I was working on quickly getting covered with pinkish juices as I worked through the slicing. Once I was happy I placed the garillions and carrots into the large pot to begin to brown. Sending to Smeed, “Can you turn into a deeper-sided pan?”
His form changes into the one I had shown him earlier and he replies, “May I ask, why the two separate pans?”
Taking one of the larger wooden spoons from another one of the storage cups, I stir the vegetables some more before replying. “Normally, vegetables and meat cook at different speeds. Usually, I’d do it all in one pan. First cooking the meat to my desired temp then used that to cook my vegetables which just made for a longer process overall. With a home full of hungry farm folk, it feels like working this way should allow for a quicker cook. ”
As I begin placing the meat into Smeed to brown he replies to me, “Will dividing the cook cause too many problems?”
“Eh, we may lose out on some of the build-up of flavor that happens but nothing that’ll destroy the dish” Leaning over the pot I begin stirring the vegetables and switch my focus to the meat and flip it to begin the browning on it’s opposite side. In this meat’s case, I took the bluish tint it was turned to to indicate that some kind of cooking process had affected the sloth meat.
“I’ve got to say that this meat you’re cooking in me seems a bit off-tasting. Well not off but maybe a bit sour.” Smeed says sounding as if his lips were smacking between every couple of words he said.
“Don’t judge it quite yet, while it may be gamey it’s also not fully cooked yet.” Pushing the meat around again to brown on any unbrowned parts. “This may be a dish you don’t get to try out for yourself as I plan to do the majority of the cooking in the other pan.”
“But, won’t you lose out on the benefits of being cooked in my pan?” Smeed says in reply.
“Well, sure but I’m trying to heal or something. This is just to say thanks. Besides, recipes like this shouldn’t need your cheat codes to make better,” I say stirring the meat some making sure no part is over blued. OK, that’s a weird alternative to browning meat.
There are audible sniffs that Smeed releases my way. “Oh, was just trying to do my part.”
Noticing the change in Smeed’s tone, I send back, “I’m sure I can find a way to maybe finish the dish off in your pan. This way the final melding of flavors gets your benefits.”
Seeming to compose himself quickly, Smeed says with pride, “That’s a deal. It will give me a chance for a final once-over as well,”
“Are you talking to ‘em?” Priss asks from where she stands.
Trying not to react I turn and reply, “To who?”
“Mama says Shrewt Owls come a hooting when there’s liars about. So you can ‘Who’ all you want but I know you’re talking to ‘em. You’ve called that thing he by accident. Don’t think I hadn’t heard ya.” She produces a small dagger to gesture to her ear. “So either I’m mistaken and maybe there’s just a bit of hay up in your loft.” She uses the same dagger to point towards my head and makes a swirling sound. “Or maybe you’ve been having a bit of a chat with that,” she emphasizes with her dagger pointed at Smeed.
Smeed speaks to me, “You gave us away Dev. What are we gonna do?”
Sending to Smeed, “Tell her?”
“Before you go telling me some lies, I don’t want your artifact or whatever it be. We may be rough folks, but we ain’t no thieves. Besides, between those fancy runes and how you can throw it about like you do. I’m sure there’s more of a story there than you let on.”
The silence from Smeed was either from shock or his processing of what to say and I just blurt out, “Yes. It’s part of my class.”
“I knew it!” Priss says with joy in her voice and enthusiasm in her dagger-waving.
“Knew what?” I ask, perplexed.
Priss replies, “Nothing, please keep going.”
“Why did you tell her?” Smeed replies barely loud enough to be heard of the sizzle.
“She was already figuring it out. What does it matter, they’ve already helped us a ton, I’d say they’re trustworthy.” I explain as I transfer the meat to the larger pan. Knowing Smeed’s ways I don’t clean him up and instead remove him from the oven and onto the wooden counter.
“What does he say to you? Is it haunted by some old knight’s soul? I’ve heard stories of heroes like that. Well with weapons or armor though.” Priss says as she pokes at Smeed’s side with her dagger.
“He mostly complains, to be honest, and no not a knightly bone in his metal body,” I reply without thinking about it as I lean over the pot to stir the meat and veggies together as their melding sizzles fill the air.
I let the pot cook some as I move back to my herbs and move some of the meat to the side as I place the herbs into the pot letting them toast some. Sniffing the combined scents beginning to build I’m starting to be reminded of the roasts I’ve tried to make my family in the past. Once satisfied I begin to incorporate them into the rest of the items into the pot before I add the yamato. Knowing how delicate they were I instead placed them across the top of the meat and vegetables already in the pot.
Remembering something I look over to where Priss was poking the runes on Smeed’s side. “Do you have any alcohol?”
“There’s some corn shine over there but I’d not go sipping this early in the day, you’re liable to pass out when you weren’t meant to,” Priss answers helpfully.
“Well no, sorry I’m not looking for something that strong. Like an alcoholic drink made out of fruit? Cider or wine?” I ask hoping to use some for the dish.
“Why didn’t you ask for wine if that’s what you wanted, that’s under that counter.” She points towards the corner where she was standing earlier. Without saying anything else she runs and grabs a dark brown bottle that gives an audible “Swish” as she makes her way back.
Uncorking the bottle as she passes it to me I take a sniff and my eyes squint a little from the strong alcohol smell that came out. “Thanks, Priss, a bit stronger than what I was expecting but should work.” I’m tempted to take a sip from the bottle but resist.
“It’s made from grenberries. Uncle Jemmin makes it.” Priss grabs the bottle and takes a gulp from it before passing it back.
“You sure you should be drinking that.” Shaking my head I look down into the bottle before taking a sip and immediately cough a half dozen times in a row. “Oh wow.” The burn doesn’t dissipate as it seems to flow down into my gullet and spread across my the rest of my body.
Priss laughs and says, “So, you getting sloshed or still cooking.”
Her words have me turning back towards the food and I dump some of the liquid into the pot with an immediate sizzle. Grabbing the large spoon I begin to stir everything together, making sure to bring up any bits from the bottom of the pot that had built up without disturbing the yamatos too much.
“What’d you go and do that for?” Priss calls over before taking the bottle from my hand.
“It’s to help bring up anything that has gotten stuck to the pot and pretty much adds some depth of flavor to the final dish,” I reply as I look down into the pot, savoring the smell for a few moments.
“Let me get some more of that flavor.” She scoffs and takes another drink from the bottle.
“Are you allowed to drink that?” I ask again looking over at her.
“I’ll have you know I’m over 12 years old and ain’t got to answer to no one,” Priss says as the bottle dangles from her hand almost touching the floor.
“You calling me no one?” Comes up from behind us in a deep voice that could literally have belonged to any of the Proppa’s at this point.
Turning around I see it’s Mama, who sits down at the table that still holds the rest of the Sloth. Using her elbow, she pushed the carcass with a sickening squelching sound filling the air as she did so. Without skipping a beat she lays her large forearm on the still-wet table top and pulls out a thick red cigar-shaped object. Beginning to almost massage the tube as she rotated it before looking up to Priss and grunting in a way that seemed to mean it was Priss’ turn to reply.
“Well, there’s you of course Ma, that don’t need no saying,” Priss gets out in a low voice from where she had stood watching me. Giving me the biggest stink eye I had ever received, Priss walks over to the Proppa Matriarch and tries to placate her with an offering from the bottle,
Almost snatching the bottle from Priss’ hands, Mama takes a large gulp from its contents before pushing the sloth carcass back to make room for the jug. With that done she returns her focus to the cigar in her hands.
Mama first wetly places the cigar into her mouth soaking it before pulling it out some to firmly bite off the cigar’s tip in one swift motion. Pulling out a knife that resembled one of the ones her daughter wielded, she used it to begin to poke a hole into the area she had just bit off.
Priss and I seem to both hang on Mama’s actions, and we almost jump as she says in her deep voice, “So, I hafta admit,” pausing to focus on her cigar. The anticipation of her words makes me tense, but she sniffs the air with a smile and continues, “Maybe those skills of yours ain’t half bad after all. This kitchen ain’t smelled this pearly since their Da’s days. Good to see your skills aren't all dishwashing related after all.”
She pulls out a small metal stick that lights as she slides her thumb across its length. Pressing it to the tip of the red cigar, she pulls in deeply, making the tip glow a bright yellow with wisps of red tendrils across its surface. The tip pulsates a few times as she takes quicker, shorter intakes without exhaling. When she finally releases the large cloud of smoke that has filled her lungs, the room is filled with the strong smell of smoked meats.
Before I have a chance to ask what’s in the cigar, Mama says, “Now, what you got stewing over there, Dell was it?”
“Dev, Ma’am.” I shakily say.
“It’s Mama, Dev.” She corrects me before I continue.
“Sorry, yes Mama’. It’s funny you should say stew as that is what I’m working towards.” Returning to the pot I begin stirring. “A recipe that follows one from,” I paused not sure what to say. “From home I guess.”
“Home, you say? I’ve always dealt with your kind but never a one talked about no home. More like what we have for ‘em to use, take, or fight.” She pauses to pull a few times from her cigar before exhaling another large plume of smoke into the room. As I sniffed at the air I could also detect an undernote of sweetness that honestly made her smoking way more pleasant than someone doing the same thing in his world.
Looking down at the pot that now is boiling off some of the alcohol from what they gave me I realize I’m missing something and look up. “First, may I ask if you have a broth that I can use? I could use water but a good stock or broth would be preferable.”
“If stocks what you’re after, it’s where it ought to be. Right above the fire over there.” She points with the cigar in the direction of the far wall where a large black pot lay hanging over bright burning coals. “Take whatever you need from it.” She uses her other bloody arm to gesture towards the sloth. “We got plenty more bits and bobs to add after this is taken care of.”
Turning Smeed into a small handheld pot I walk over to the cauldron and finally look down into its contents and immediately make a face. Inside bubbled a swirling mix of bones, fat, and assorted other bits and bobs as Mama had put it. Regardless of the revulsion that I was feeling, the smell that was emanating from the pool of boiling animal leavings was a savory smell that was almost primal in the way it summoned me toward its waiting waters.
“Dev, I am not sure if using this would be a detriment to your dish. It looks to have been cooking since our simulations first began running.” Smeed said in a voice painted with my original revulsion.
“Have you seen the size of Lemmin? If he can grow to that size with his mom using this stuff, how bad could it be.” I lean down to smell and find it a bit overpowering but instead say, “It smells delicious, absolutely savory.”
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“I can tell that you are not being forthwith with me but fine, let's get this over with,” I can hear Smeed take a deep breath as if he will somehow drown in this forever broth or that he even has to breathe.
Ignoring the protests that come my way as I dip him into the caldron, I instead focus on getting as little as the oil or extra bits of bone and parts that floated in the stew. While slow going, I’m happy with the results as I end up with a good amount of liquid that reminded me of a darkened stock I had seen at home.
I take the Smeed’s form back to the stove and tip the liquid into the larger pot with an immediate sizzle sounding out. Priss pulls up a stool to get a closer look as I begin to focus on cooking again. I’m thankful for her help in finding out how to lower the stove some using the runes provided.
Once things are simmering I look at Priss and say, “So Sous chef, how do I get this oven working” I begin grabbing under the stove I was using trying to figure out how to pull open the oven.
Without answering she nods her head towards the old-fashioned wide furnace-looking thing that looked more to heat a room than bake anything. Looking at the small opening for what I guessed was the oven part of the thing I looked down at that large pot I had originally chosen to cook everything in.
“Don’t worry Dev, problem solved.” Smeed sent to me before becoming wider and shorter in a way that should hold the meat and veggies but hold the meat beneath the liquid as I had hoped for.
“Not exactly the best solution but thanks Smeed,” I send over to Smeed beginning to move the items over from the larger pot into Smeed new form.
Mama’s chair creaked as she leaned forward and whistled a few times while pointing at Smeed on the stove. “What was that?”
“What was what,” I said as I tried to grab Smeed’s handles.
“Say what one more time before answering me and I will shove my foot right up your,” Mama began saying.
“Mama, please. It’s just part of his class is all.” Priss says from her stool with her arms held out in a calming motion.
“Class or not, that’s magic and he didn’t talk ‘bout no magic when I asked ‘em his class. I don’t take kind to liars, you know this Prissibel.” With every few words, Mama takes a deep puff from her cigar, whose glow gives her face a very menacing look.
“Ma’ammma,” I barely make the save before continuing, “Like Priss said, this is just part of my skills. The pan just came with the class.”
“Seems a lot more than any ashen pan I’ve seen.” A large bit of ash falls from her cigar as she waves it in my direction. “You keep at it though, this smell got my mouth watering something serious. We’ll talk about that pan later.”
A large creaking of the floorboards coming towards them from the living room announces Lemmin before he steps into view, barely clearing the doorway into the room. Leaning down to kiss his mom’s cheek he grabs the cigar from her hand and takes a few puffs before returning it. “Don’t hassle ‘em too much Ma. He’s just doing the best with what he’s got.”
Looking at the wider Smeed form I was carrying to the oven, she says, “Look at that Lem. Ain’t often we see that type of magic out here, is it?”
“Well nah, but I bet Esslem’s got all sorts of that type of shite,” Lemmin replies before pulling a chair up next to his mom giving the sloth's body another good shove that gets it away from himself. Seeing the wine jug from earlier, he grabs it with his now bloody hand and unscrews the top before taking a gulp that lasts longer than it took for me to put Smeed in the oven and to walk back over to where my longer sliced yamato’s still lay. With an unneeded belch filling the air, Lemmin continues with a slight slur to his speech, “Bet there’s floating spoons, self-washing dishes, all sorts of magic.” He attempts another large gulp before Mama pulls the jug from his grasp.
“Whatever, let him keep his secrets for now.” She looks down at the bloody jug before taking a gulp from it anyway and putting it down on the far side of the table away from Lemmin. Nodding her head at the sloth, “Why don’t you go take care of that before supper? Go wash up again too, you look like the inside of a sodden rust pile ya do.”
Looking down at where his clothing was now covered in blood he sighs before looking up at her. “You’re covered in it too.”
Stuffing her cigar into the side of her mouth she puffs smoke into his face. “You talking back to me Lemmin Bristen Proppa?”
The hulking man somehow seemed as small as his sister as he looked at his mom. “No, I didn’t mean nothin'. Sorry ma, I got this.” Without a word he stands and grabs the sloth before throwing it over his shoulder, further covering himself with the blood from the beast.
“Rusted hearts, Lemmin. Are you a fool? Git yourself and that thing out here already.” Mama almost growls at him as she points with her cigar at the back door.
As he makes his way out of the room unceremoniously I return to the yamato and look down at them. Seeing how luscious the vegetable looked on its own I decided to go simple with its preparation. I start by dusting its surface with some of the sel and ash pepper that I had set aside. Once heavily coated I cover it all with some paprikola that adds a nice red color to the yamato.
Locating a small, flat cast iron skillet pan, I place the yamato’s on its surface and take that over to the oven. While the height of the oven’s opening is fairly short, I am glad that it’s wide enough to support both Smeed and the skillet.
As soon as the oven is open, Smeed greets me in an almost obscenely decadent voice, “Dev, this is divine.” Once again he fills my head with the smacking of his lips before continuing, “I know it needs more time, but truly Devin, this is exactly what my ability to taste was made for.” I don’t think twice before closing the oven in hopes of muffling his words knowing full well he was already in my head.
I almost step into Priss who is right beside me watching my every movement. Smiling over at her I move back over to the countertop and begin cleaning up some. Before I know it though, Priss is there shaking her head as she begins to do it for me. Stepping back from the elbow she gives my midsection, I submit to her help.
Mama’s chair creaking pulls my eyes back towards her as she pulls back out her metal lighter and places it against the cigar that must have become unlit. She repeats the multiple puffing with the tip glowing anew. Both her arms are draped across her knees as she leans forward before releasing the smoke into the air.
No words, just her staring at me looking like a mix of some cartoon gangsta and a grandma that spent all day in her sleeping gown. If that picture doesn’t sound too intimidating, trust me it is. I felt myself sweating trying to think up something to say as I heard Priss cleaning up behind me.
“So, uhm. How do you like living in Esslem?” I ask not sure what else to say.
She points with her cigar at my almost faded injury, “Life ‘ere is filled with a lot of dodging shite like that. Day in and day out just loads and loads of rust-bloated gob shites.” She pauses to pull from her cigar deeply. “They say, ‘The pearl will guide the way’ but all that giant white prick has done for us is be a beacon for all of this.” She gestures to the blood-soaked table and to my arm again..
“What do you mean?” Finally getting up the courage I also gesture to the cigar, “Would you mind if I had one of those?”
Biting onto the cigar she looks up at me as she digs through some of her crevices for way longer than I’d like to admit. I’m not sure if it’s a skill but I literally can’t take my eyes off hers as she squints at me. Finally finding the cigar she passes it to me, “From what the kids say you’re of stout stock, but still don’t go pulling too hard on our leaf. Comes straight from the rust fields and ‘tis walking on death’s wall when you take that in,” She pulls in deeply as I take the cigar from her hand.
I can’t help but hold it reverently as I look down at its length. The outside is coarse and fairly stiff with deep wrinkles across its length that seem to glisten with a dark red liquid. I begin to put it into my pocket before Mama coughs with a scowl on her face. I immediately explain, “Sorry Mama, I wanted to see if I could use it in my cooking.”
“You ain’t wasting my rustleaf.” She leans forward with her fire stick out and lit before her.
I look down at the cigar and try to rip it in half. Priss’ hand reaches up within a moment of me struggling to swiftly cut the cigar neatly in half. She even takes the time to prune one of the two halves just as her mom had done. “There, you get your cookery and you get to try the smoke.” Priss takes the pruned part and leans forward about to light it on her mother’s stick but her mother extinguishes it before she can do anything. With a rushed smile to her mom, she quickly passes the cigar back to me and goes back to tidying up behind me.
In a conspiratory whisper, Mama says to me, “She’s always trying to push her boundaries. Best to put her in her place early, “ she laughs before continuing. “Anyways, don’t know what skill you be using her to clean for you but you’ve gotta teach me that one. She ain’t clean a dish since she was a babe. Good on you cook, good on you.”
Looking over to where Priss worked hard to clean I shrug before looking back at Mama, “I’m not doing anything, maybe she just wants to help?” I lean forward to where she’s relit her firestick I take an inhale while puffing on the cigar as it was pressed to the fire.
I’m not sure if her flame got brighter but a great flash hit me with the first puff. Stepping back I hear a pulsating thumping reverberating all around me. All other sound is shut out as the pulses take over all of my senses. Soon even the kitchen was gone as the sound continued to throb in my ears for what felt like minutes.
Snap, back to reality. It’s Mama Proppa’s voice I hear first, “Damnit Lemmin, you win, he didn’t fall on his arse. Ashen lucky bastard.” Mama reaches into her crevices and pulls out a coin to toss to Lemmin.
The coughs taking me over are the deep kind that feel like you’ve been doing crunches after they’re done with you. This brings laughter from the whole Proppa clan giving me a symphony of guffaws that are mirrored by an echo in my head from Smeed.
I swear I can hear him clearing tears from his eyes as he says, “She warned you Dev.”
“Warned my ass,” I say out loud before I realize it. Trying to salvage it, “It uhm burned my ass on this thing.” I give a couple more softer coughs.
She squints at my words for only a second before continuing, “I did warn you. Travelers like you rarely take heed.” She looks down at the cigar in her hand. “You hear rust fields and it’s just a bit of lore for you to experience. No, the rust fields were far more than some story.” She pulls on her cigar and sits quietly.
“Sorry, I just meant.” I stop as Lemmin puts his hand up.
“Those cigars are tainted, as a lot of our land is. The choices made by the Rust King damned us all.” He stares down at the reddened cigar in his fingertips. “We’ve all learned how to deal with the results of that damning mind you, but doesn’t mean it ain’t changed us.” Lemmin looked over to where his mother now was sipping from the jug.
“Rust blight his eye. This ain’t not talk for the dinner table.” Mama says with a sigh as she looks down at the viscera-covered table.
“It would be if Uncle Jemmin was here,” Priss comes up with a smile that lighted the mood some.
“If he were here, we’d have to be hiding our leaves, meats, and anything shiny,” Momma says shaking her head as she leaned back in her chair and puffed on her cigar.
Mama takes another cornshine drink before passing it to Lemmon who follows his mother’s lead before handing it over to me. Wiping the mouth of the jug with my shirt, which made all the Proppas laugh, I take a gulp and immediately begin coughing. The fit takes me over until it feels like I’m about to heave. I absently pass the bottle to Priss as my coughs subside. Priss begins to quickly take a few sips from the jug before Mama pulls it from Priss’ grasping arms.
“Girl, I don’t need you having no sloppy tea parties rather than getting to bed tonight.” Mama takes a deep swallow of the liquid before putting it back on the table.
“Tea parties?” Her voice suddenly gets deeper when she says, “Barton and Porto don’t drink tea. They’re right for a bit of the bite and fight and maybe some grog, but ain’t no tea.” The cornshine splashes must have hit her quicker than the rest of us.
“Prissibel, I ain’t going to let you use my own skill against me in our home.” Her voice takes a deeper and huskier version of her daughter’s, “Unless you’re looking for a tanning.”
Letting the family squabble, I stand and grab a fork before heading over to the oven. Leaning down I take a whiff and I’m instantly hit with a mixture of aromas that are all making my stomach growl. Using the fork I begin to poke at the Yamato slices and see they’re somewhat tender but need more time. I try to do the same with Smeed’s sloth meat but the oven’s height stops me, reaching for the handle I let out an expletive as my hand gives a sizzle as soon as it makes contact with the handle.
“I’m hot Dev,” Smeed offers helpfully.
Sending back to him, “Yes I can feel that.”
“You ok suga,” comes from Mama as she calls over from where it looks like she had just yanked Lemmin’s ear for some reason.
“Yea, just uhm do you guys have like an oven mitt?” I ask holding up my stinging hand.
“Mitt, what?” Priss calls suddenly standing.
“For the pot in here,” I point with my non-burned hand.
She gives me a face as she walks up to the stove and wraps her tunic some in her hand before grabbing Smeed and pulling him out some, “Are you sure you’re a cook?” She needs to use her second hand realizing Smeed’s weight.
“Dev, you need to get water on that or something to heal at the very least.” Smeed says before adding, “Please tell Lady Priss that I will reduce my weight to assist.”
“Lady Priss?” I send to Smeed.
Suddenly Smeed moves up a few inches in Priss hand as she makes a face and says, “What’s it doin’?”
“Sorry, just helping with the weight, my Lady,” I reply before heading to the sink and putting water on my hand for a few seconds..
“Lady,” Lemmin says before throwing his head back and laughing. “Get ‘im ma. Calling her a Lady. Only lady she’s been round is a bug and even them ain't likely to fly onto no Prow pie like our little Miss Priss.”
I mentally picture throwing Smeed at the wall before trying to cover, “Sorry, just a respectful term around where I’m from is all.” I try to laugh it off.
Priss looks up at me with a small smile before turning to her family, “I wants respect, I gets respect. It’s the Proppa way. Now shut your gabs while we makes the grub. You got it?”
Lemmin’s mouth moves with no words coming out. Momma’s chair begins to creak as she leans forward before expelling a huge cloud of smoke as her laughter fills the air. It’s a wheezing affair that seems to set off her skill making her laughter alternate between her normal gruff tone and the raspier one from her skill. “Sure Lady Priss, we ain’t meant harm did we Sir Lemm.” Momma somehow pulls off a stately nod to her head and flourish of her hand that could have been right at home at some Victorian period piece.
“What you on about she’s babbling her brook for no reason. Besides, he’s doing all the work,” Lemmin waves toward me.
As I’m about to reply, Priss says, “You’re right, me and ‘em are working as I sees it. The only work you’re doing is keeping that chair from floating up.” I can’t help but snicker at that before she continues, “And seeing as that ain’t a real worry, how about you make yourself useful and take care of the table.”
Laughter comes out of Mama as Lemmin grumbles and obliges. “If I didn’t know no better, I’d say you’d already gotten Homestead Influence but you’s way too early for that, ain’t ya.” In reply, Priss raises her chin up in the air in defiance. “Nah, just 2 pounds of sass in a 1 pound sack. Proppa is as Proppa does.”
Grabbing Smeed from Priss I place him on the stove and ask her to grab a large plate for me as well as tongs. The tongs part takes me explaining a few times before I settle for a large spoon. When she returns with everything I begin fishing out the pieces of sloth. What I’m left with is a thickened liquid that is full of all the drippings and flavor from everything I had put in at first. Even that terrible cauldron of former meals played its part in the simmering goodness before me.
Shaking that thought out of my head I grab some water and some of the corn flour I had seen earlier in the cabinet. Interrupting Mama’s current sip from the corn shine jug, I splash some into the pot before returning it to Mama.
Once back at Smeed, I begin moving the spoon around the bottom to once again gather every bit of flavor that has built up during the roasting process. Pouring the majority of the cup of water into the pan, I reserve some to make a slurry with the flour. I add the pasty slurry into the pot and immediately stir it into the pot making sure it doesn’t clump up.
It doesn’t take long before it all becomes a thick rich gravy that has a bit of dribble fall from the corner of my mouth that I’m forced to wipe away onto my tunic. Feeling self-conscious I look over to Priss only to see her with an almost glazed look in her eyes as she stared at the Yamato slices. She stood on her tipping toes wafting the smell from the vegetable into her deeply sniffing nose.
Clearing my throat I look over at Priss with a smile. It takes her a few seconds to get out of her daze. Outloud I say, “I think we’re ready.” She mouths out “We” and I nod in reply. The grin that spreads across her face is a smirk and mischievous for some reason.
I realize why as she says out loud, “Get yer asses ready for the grub people,” came out the youngest Proppa’s mouth and we all did in fact get our asses ready for that grub.